These paintings are not completely microscopic - they can be seen with the naked eye, though they are all smaller than the average postage stamp. But it takes a microscope (or magnifying glass) to properly view them without straining one's eyes. It takes a microscope to see the tiny brushstrokes and miniscule details. It takes a microscope to see what you know is there but cannot discern clearly. Anyone who knows me understands that I am obsessed with the little details of life, and of art. When closely inspecting great art in museums, I am often less interested in the subject matter of the work than the textures, the brushstrokes, the stains, the patterns of the paint crazing with age, the hairs and brush-bristles that had inadvertently been trapped in the paint. I have also always found the inner space of the microscopic world far more alluring than the existentially-numbing vast nothingness of outer space. The desire to shrink myself down to miniature dimensions, a la "Land of the Giants", has always been a dream since childhood, and explorations of all things small have always been at the forefront of my life's research. And I'm on a rising tide. The world is closely following my philosophical lead, though for all the wrong reasons. Nanotechnology threatens to make humanity cognizant of the microworld whether they like it or not. So rapid has this technology progressed, that we now have the capability to build any device - even supercomputers - so small that we can't even see them. In fact, devices operate even better at this level. The microscopic world is the way of the future, even though it will almost certainly spell the end of mankind. I create these paintings not just for you, dear reader, but for the mutated intelligent insects who will no doubt rule the planet after humans have wiped themselves out. It is my fondest desire that one day some of these insects will have my tiny paintings hanging in their tiny living rooms.